War Burns and the Laws Fall Mute
by LornaWinters
Summary: The sequel to "War Burns." While Dominion War rages on, Lady Guinevere is asked to undertake a mission of peace. Facing the past she would rather forget becomes the least of her problems when she gets entangled in a web of conspiracy. Based around the episode "Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges."
1. Chapter 1

**Note bene: The events in the story are happening around the time of the DS9 episode "Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges." **

**This is one of the stories that has been floating around in the limbo of my imagination for about six months. Originally, I had intended for this to be a part of "War Burns," but the more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a separate tale. So here it goes, folks! The Saga continues!**

**Thank you readers, followers, and of course reviewers!**

* * *

_Certain it is and sure: love burns, ale burns, fire burns, war burns, and politics burns. But cold is life without them._

-An old Romulan proverb

_For among the times of arms, the laws fall mute._

-Cicero

* * *

"…our remaining ships, together with those of our Basque brothers, continue to hold the line in the Ximenta and Berezi systems—just as we promised." Lady Guinevere shot a brazen look at the Romulan senator sitting next to her.

Senator Letant flashed a foxy smile in response. With a small amount of satisfaction, he turned his attention to pouring himself a glass of water. It was the closest he had come to provoking a response out of her the entire meeting. Ever since the time he had witnessed her rake Captain Sisko over the coals, he took delight in trying to goad her into losing control again. Now that he was aware of its existence, he wanted to see that fiery temper manifest itself just once more, even if it was to a lesser degree.

But perhaps that was only possible if Commander Bochra was directly involved, as was the case the last time. Or maybe it wouldn't be such a challenge if the Federation didn't insist upon the absence of alcohol at official meetings. He couldn't deny, however, that the difficulty was what made the game so engaging. His interest in taunting General Martok had died away long ago, for the simple reason that it was far too easy.

He discreetly stared at Guinevere's contorted reflection in his water. Were she not an inferior human, he would have thought her irresistibly beautiful. When it came right down to it, her dark looks and regal poise reminded him somewhat of a Romulan woman. Her features were decidedly softer, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. He applauded the way she managed to pull off being strong and charismatic without losing an ounce of her femininity. Not all Romulan women could boast of possessing that ability.

_Guinevere: a Norman Celtic name meaning "a white wave," which has its origins in ancient Earth mythology._ Her very name sounded beautiful to him. It made him think of a tempest on the sea-a perfect analogy of her psyche in his opinion.

Even if he wasn't happily married (and he was), he would never stoop to a relationship with a human. Bochra was far more adventurous than he would ever be. And yet, he could not find any other defect in the young commander's choice. Letant brought his reverie to a halt when his colleague, Senator Cretak, began to speak.

"May I offer you my congratulations on your recent victory." Cretak was a more accomplished diplomat than he was. "I'm certainly impressed by the efforts of you and your people, Lady."

Guinevere smiled warmly and held her hand to her heart. "Thank you, Senator. I am truly touched."

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," said Admiral Ross, "that concludes our meeting this afternoon." The others sat back and relaxed a little.

Senator Letant meanwhile eyed the human lady with intent amusement as she hastily gathered her materials and left. She offered no "thank you for your time," or "until our next assembly," or anything else of the sort. The other Alpha Quadrant representatives likewise noticed the departure from her normal behavior. But he was the only one in the room who wasn't puzzled by this sudden change.

"Was it something I said?" asked Ross after she had gone.

"She looked nervous," Martok observed. "If I didn't know her better, I would have thought she was hiding something."

Letant chuckled with an air of superiority. Everyone else at the table turned to look at him. "That would have been my assumption, too, General, had I not known that the _Greenclaw_ was due to arrive during our conference."

Martok's mouth opened.

"Didn't you read the docking report this morning?" Letant quipped. Now that his first choice of a victim had left the room, he would have to settle for the alternative.

The Klingon glared at him with his one eye. "I don't spend all of my time behind a desk like you do, Senator!" he growled.

"And that is why you are uninformed," Letant calmly retorted. In reality, he had not read the report either, the fact having been brought to his attention by his aide. But there was no need for the Klingon jackal to know that trivial detail.

* * *

Chief O'Brien glanced up apologetically from his PADD. "It's going to be at least two weeks before we can get to your ship, Commander. I'm sorry, but it can't be helped. We're swamped."

Bochra held his hands behind his back. His ship had barely made it to DS9, after single-handedly destroying three Jem'Hadar vessels. He would not be surprised if this action would call the praetor's attention to himself once again. It would be a good thing if it did. At any other time, his inadvisable marriage to a human—no matter how prestigious she was—would have put his career on the rocks. But thanks to the war and his recent victories, his rank and position were assured now.

Naturally, he had every intention of keeping his promise to his wife. But if he could resign his command without bringing disgrace upon himself and his family, he would do so.

"Officially, I must protest. Unofficially, however," he lowered his voice, "my wife is here and I haven't seen her in two months. There's no need to rush, if you take my meaning, Chief."

"That I do, Commander," the Irishman winked. "And since you're going to be with us for a little while," he suggested, "I thought you might like to know there's a performance of _Il Trovatore_ tomorrow evening. I'd take Keiko if she were here."

"Guinevere _is_ fond of opera," the Romulan considered, half to himself, cocking his head slightly.

"That's why I brought it up," replied O'Brien with a knowing smile.

As if on cue, the lady in question appeared. Bochra's hands dropped to his sides when he saw her. She never ceased to dazzle him, and he had not yet been able to fully convince himself that she was truly his wife. Further still, he hadn't gotten over the fact that she had forgiven him after his callous behavior toward her. But she _had_ forgiven him, and he knew he didn't deserve her.

Guinevere rushed over and he took her into his arms. "I'm so proud of you! Kiss me, my intrepid hero," she pleaded.

Bochra brought her lips to his and ran his fingers through her silky dark hair. It thrilled him that she already knew of his recent victory. She always seemed to know the exact words with which to stroke his ego, and he enjoyed it immensely. He couldn't have asked for a better welcome. If she had wanted to, his wife could have been a cunning manipulator. But he was relieved that she wasn't.

He pulled away before things could get too heated. "We're in public," he reminded her regretfully. O'Brien quietly snickered behind him. _And I don't want another lecture about the proper conduct of a Romulan officer from Senator Letant again_, he added to himself.

Bochra kept his arm around her shoulders and led her in the direction of the Promenade. Before they left, he took a brief gander at O'Brien, who gave him a thumbs up. A human gesture he had never seen before. It certainly conveyed approval, though. The Chief was quite a character.

"It would appear that I'll be here for at least two weeks," the commander said to his wife cheerfully as they strolled down the Promenade. "I can't remember the last time we've been together for that long. Not since before we were married, I'm certain."

Guinevere beamed. "Whatever shall we do?" she teased playfully.

A poster for a traveling opera company hung from the upper level. _See and Hear the Tragic Tale of Ill-Fated Love, Gypsy Curses, and Revenge! Verdi's Masterpiece: Il Trovatore!_ it read. Bochra watched his bride's beautiful dark brown eyes light up when she saw the advertisement.

"Why don't we attend that opera tomorrow evening?" he suggested casually. He was rewarded with her enchanting smile.

* * *

"Here we go again..." Quark mumbled under his breath. "Looks like trouble has darkened the door of my bar again," he said a hair louder to Morn.

The Lurian nodded in agreement when he saw Bochra and Guinevere sit at a table in the far corner.

Quark walked over to take their order. "I just can't get rid of you two," he joked, trying to hide his uneasiness. In truth, he was half serious. He genuinely liked and admired the Lady. After all, he helped to rescue her and free her planet. And the fact that she had rewarded him with the Ring of Bran—not to mention the opportunity for a cut in the trade profits to Nua Breizh–had served to increase his respect for her. It was her husband he was concerned about.

"Oh, Monsieur Quark, you're such a tease," Guinevere laughed. Whether or not she sensed his nervousness, Quark couldn't say.

The Commander, on the other hand, took his true meaning. "My wife would like a Chartreuse on the rocks, and I will have kali-fal," he said in a tone that was typically Romulan. He clearly wanted Quark to bring their drinks and leave them alone.

The Ferengi grinned. This was his chance for payback. "Damn, she's as hardcore as you are!" he said to Bochra, "I just keep that around for adding flavor to stuff." He didn't worry in the least about his tip being decreased. Romulan pride would hold the Commander in check in that department. As long as his Lady was happy, Bochra wouldn't dare risk looking like a cheapskate in front of her.

Guinevere laughed again. But Quark could see that her husband's annoyance was mounting. He estimated that he would only be able to get in one last jab in before crossing the line.

"You always know how to amaze a fellow, fair Lady," said Quark with a wink. _That should ruffle the good Commander's feathers enough, _he thought mirthfully.

Bochra narrowed his eyes. "Just bring what I ordered," he snapped, barely keeping the hostility out of his voice.

"Your drinks will be out shortly." Quark scurried off.

"Please don't be cross, my love," he heard Guinevere say, "He was only being friendly."

But he didn't wait around to hear Bochra's response. Was he crazy? He shouldn't be rocking the boat like that. Commander Bochra's temper had expensive results, not to mention painful. Oh, he remembered all too well the way Worf went flying backwards in his chair after provoking the Romulan. He had no desire to be the object of Bochra's wrath himself.

At the bar, Sisko was waiting to place his own order. He frowned in disapproval at the couple.

"Have you talked to Odo about them being here yet?" Quark asked him anxiously, "Because if you don't, I will."

Sisko glared at him. "What do you think? Sorry," he shook his head, "I suppose I'm just as nervous as you are that they're here, and together. On their own, they don't seem to be so bad. Listen to me," he chuckled gloomily, "I sound like a louse who's trying to hinder the course of true love."

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean," the barkeep agreed, "It's nice that they can be together in spite of the odds, but they do seem to leave a wave of destruction in their path."

"This from the man who left his bar with three of my officers to go rescue her."

"I merely saw a business opportunity and took it," he insisted, "Hew-mon females have no appeal for me except for profit, Captain. No offense."

"None taken." He leaned on the bar and rubbed his eyes. "Don't worry, Quark. I'm sure Odo has it all under control. Now will you get me a raktajino before I fall asleep?"

Quark set a mug on the counter. "Well, of course we all have complete faith in our good constable," he said sarcastically.

* * *

"I live and hope that one day you'll come to see this universe for what it truly is, rather than what you'd wish it to be." Garak waved his hands in the air as he spoke.

Bashir grinned unenthusiastically. "Then I shall endeavor to become more cynical with each passing day, look gift horses squarely in the mouth, and find clouds in every silver lining."

Garak returned his smile, but didn't buy it. "If only you meant that." He took a sip of his beverage. They were sitting together in the replimat for the last time before Bashir would leave to attend the first Federation conference on Romulus as one of its key speakers.

"Alright," the Cardassian surrendered, "If peace is truly the Federation's goal, I must say they're going about it the wrong way."

The doctor blinked. "How else do you expect us to go about it?"

"This is merely my own personal opinion, of course, but it seems to me that Starfleet is overlooking an invaluable component for the task," he responded cryptically.

Bashir didn't miss a beat. "I take it you mean a specific person?"

Garak nodded and smiled again, pleased to find that his companion could indeed be taught.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you, thank you to thyme2read, BewilderedFemale, JustaCrazy-Man, "Senator Letant," and "Lady Guinevere" for your reviews! "Ensign Vorik," thanks for your review, too. You might want to drop a line to BewilderedFemale-she mentioned something about writing another story about you. And Bochra, cher! Your review was like a dream come true to me!  
**

**Most of all, thank you 0afan0 for proofreading my chapters and offering suggestions! Your assistance is invaluable to me!**

* * *

"Romulus?" Guinevere's eyes were wide in disbelief, and she looked back and forth from Admiral Ross to Senators Cretak and Letant.

"You don't know what you're asking," she said to Admiral Ross, "And you," she glared at Letant, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table. "I have to give you credit, Senator. I completely misread you. I was aware that you disliked me, but I had no idea it was personal." She narrowed her eyes, demanding an explanation.

Letant chuckled in response. Oh, how he loved to see her angry!

Guinevere mimicked his laughter, and then flashed another look at him. "Get to it, Letant!" She leaned forward onto the table.

The Senator felt his heart race wildly. Those beautiful, dark brown eyes were boring into his. He could no longer lie to himself by denying that she had enchanted him. He willed his expression to become serious.

"My Lady," he addressed her calmly, "You have indeed misread me. But your mistake is on both accounts. I neither dislike you nor wish your demise." He smiled daringly, "Rather the opposite, actually."

The lady stood up straight and crossed her arms suspiciously. "Indeed?" she asked, not at all convinced.

"Quite so," he averred. "I respect you a great deal. And admire you. Truly, my esteemed colleague," he gestured toward Cretak, "and I can think of no better person for this task."

She held his eyes, still mistrustful.

He didn't blame her in the least. He, too, was more accustomed to deceit than veracity. "Lady Guinevere, surely you can accept a compliment gracefully?" he tried to reason.

"A compliment, or flattery?" she raised one of her dark, delicately arched brows.

"It is a compliment," he persisted, "since I gain little from bestowing it."

The color rushed to her cheeks now that she realized he really was sincere. She blinked several times, fluttering her long, jet-black lashes. "Very well," she acknowledged evenly. "Thank you, Senator," she said with a small, though genuine smile.

In her surprise at their request, Guinevere had risen to her feet. She sat back down.

Letant meanwhile nodded with an air of triumphant satisfaction. He had never seen her blush. This new reaction of hers made a significant impression upon him. He had before relished watching her when she was angry, but now…this expression suited her even better, he decided.

Letant suddenly realized he was almost envious of Bochra. Almost. And that was as far as it would ever go. Being the husband of a retired praetor had its advantages, after all—much more so than being the insignificant consort of a queen, he firmly reminded himself. One didn't have to wonder who was in control of _that_ marriage.

Now that peace had once more been established, Ross took the opportunity to speak. "The senators have informed me of your past experiences on their world," he began diplomatically. "I'll let them explain their motives in a moment. But as for the Federation Council and myself, we agree that you would be the ideal bridge between Romulus and the Federation."

"Why?" she asked in astonishment. "I mistrust both of your governments, as you all well know."

"Yes, we do," said the admiral, "That's why we want you. You don't favor either side, so you'd be more objective than most other mediators. And, frankly, you have a lot to gain from good relations between us. I'm speaking of your marriage to Commander Bochra, of course. If the Alliance were to deteriorate, God forbid," he inserted with a glance across the table, "then Nua Breizh would unfortunately be caught in the middle."

_Yes, Ross knows how to put on the pressure when he really wants to,_ Letant thought wryly.

Guinevere considered his words for a moment once she realized he was finished. "Alright," she said, "So how would this benefit Romulus?"

Letant noted with no small amount of satisfaction that her question was addressed more toward Cretak's direction rather than his. In all likelihood, she would avoid meeting his eyes entirely for the rest of the day. The fact that his words had moved her to that extent only served to fan the flames of his ego even faster.

Cretak spoke. "The Senate has not forgotten their first meeting with you. The news of your liberating Nua Breizh has once more gained their attention. There are others besides Letant and myself who admire your bravery. Admiral Ross is correct in pointing out that your neutrality is above suspicion. Furthermore, your past experiences with our people, though unfortunate, give you the advantage of an uncommon understanding of our culture and ideals."

"And because you're human," Ross interjected, "you're equally aware of the beliefs and cultures of a good portion of the Federation Council, even if you don't agree with them."

"You're points are taken," said Guinevere, "and I'm willing to at least consider your proposition." She folded her hands in her lap. "But there still remains the matter of my personal safety. You'll recall that I barely escaped Romulus with my life the last time I was there."

"It is in the best interests of the Romulan government to ensure your safety," Cretak assured her. "And you will have the protection of the Tal Shiar."

"The Tal Shiar?" Guinevere repeated in disgust. "They have their own agenda. Everyone knows _that_."

Cretak was the model of patience. "If the Tal Shiar wanted you dead, my Lady, you would not be standing here. Chairman Koval supports you publicly. No one would dare take the risk of harming you."

_No one, except Koval himself_, Letant mused, though he kept his own council. "We will, of course, assign Commander Bochra to escort you to the conference, my Lady," he threw in, dangling the proverbial bait in front of her.

"Please, Lady Guinevere," Ross pleaded. "The Alpha Quadrant needs you. And like it or not, you and your people are very much a part of the Alpha Quadrant."

Letant watched her ponder the matter. No doubt she was wondering whether or not she would be making the biggest mistake of her life if she accepted. The senator didn't envy her position.

"Very well," she informed them finally, "I'll do it."

* * *

After Guinevere and Letant left, Ross got up and walked over to the window. The somber reflection of his face could be seen on the glass.

"Is something wrong, Admiral?" asked Cretak.

Ross looked away from the view. "Hmm? Oh, no. It's nothing. Just the sentiments of an old man."

"Oh?" she gently prodded.

"Lady Guinevere and Commander Bochra," he confided drearily. "I keep thinking how unfair it is that they have to waste the first part of their marriage on this…damned war." The words tasted bitter in his mouth. "I know," he continued before she could respond, "they probably wouldn't have even gotten together had it not been for the war."

"They are prepared to make that sacrifice," she answered confidently, "just as the rest of us are. That is what is required in order to prevail." She rose from her chair. "He should at least in part be grateful for the war; otherwise his career would be in tatters."

Ross couldn't tell by her tone what her opinion on the matter was. "Because of his marriage?"

"Unfortunately yes," she answered frankly. "But that is the way of things."

The admiral didn't attempt to argue with her. "I know," he grimly turned up his lips, "'war burns.'" He strolled back over to the window.

Cretak somehow had the distinct feeling that there was something else bothering this man who she was beginning to think of as a friend.

* * *

"You have _got _to be joking..." Chief O'Brien's mouth fell open. "Tomorrow? Have you seen the damage the _Greenclaw_ took on? It's as bad as some of the Klingon ships I've been having to repair lately!"

Kira Nerys shrugged helplessly. "I know, Chief. But those are the orders. If it makes you feel any better, I'd take your job over having to deal with these zoo animals any day."

O'Brien chuckled, but then his face became serious again. "Poor Bochra. He told me himself that he was looking forward to spending time with his wife. Now they're sending him out again so soon?"

"That's just it," she said, leaning forward, "He's escorting her to Romulus for the conference."

"She's going to the conference, too? Wait a second. Why didn't they ask as soon as the _Greenclaw_ docked? I could have been halfway through already. Now I'm going to have to bust my buttocks and work all night to get her repaired in time!"

"Sorry, Chief, I only just found out about it myself." She rolled her eyes. "You know how these things go."

She left without another word. O'Brien cursed under his breath, then called Rom to come over and lend him a hand. It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**As always, thank you kindly to 0afan0 for proofreading, and to thyme2read, BewilderedFemale, and JustaCrazyMan for your reviews and encouragement! And thank you to all of my readers!  
**

* * *

Guinevere went to her suite in the habitat ring in silence. When she arrived, she sank onto the sofa, trying to make sense of it all.

She was returning to Romulus, and she couldn't believe it. The tide of unresolved emotions that surrounded her earlier life there began to swell in her heart. Tævek's bloody corpse to that day continued to haunt her dreams. Lurking in the back of her mind was the question of what might have been, had he not been murdered. But she had long ago rejected those thoughts, believing it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Now, the vicious dogs would awaken soon. She wouldn't have to face this trial alone, but at the same time, she was worried that her marriage would be tested once again. Bochra was a man who was prone to jealousy. The fact that she had been married before had always been a major source of insecurity for him, especially since he felt he could not offer her everything her first husband could.

She had made great strides in convincing him that his station didn't matter to her, and that he was the only man she had ever truly loved. It was the truth. She would never know if she could have learned to love Tævek; but she _was_ certain that she loved Bochra dearly. That, before all else, was why she wanted to forget the past and move on with her life.

Oh, why had she agreed to this mission? To all intents and purposes, her arm had been twisted, she realized. Admiral Ross' words echoed in her mind: _If the Alliance were to deteriorate, Nua Breizh would unfortunately be caught in the middle...The Alpha Quadrant needs you. And like it or not, you and your people are a part of the Alpha Quadrant._

Anger replaced her anxiety. How could she have allowed herself to cave in from their pressure and exaggerated fear mongering? It was the oldest trick in the book! She was vexed with Cretak and Letant; yet even more, she was livid with Ross.

The doors slid open, and Bochra entered. "I just received the orders. You look as astonished as I am," he observed.

"You could say that," she agreed nervously.

Bochra's expression softened. "I know this is going to be difficult for us both, but rest assured, I will not abandon you, come what may. I swear it."

"I know," she said softly.

"Something else is bothering you, _ailhun_. What is it?" He held her in his arms and looked deeply into her eyes.

"I feel it is my duty to perform the mourning ritual for Tævek," she answered, deciding it was best to get right to the meat of the matter.

Her husband slowly nodded. "I thought as much." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I will not be envious of a memory. I'm proud of you. Your commitment to duty is one of your many qualities I have always admired. Do what you must, my wife. I will be at your side."

Guinevere felt her heart fill to the brim. She had foolishly underestimated Bochra. He, too, had grown over the last few months.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I love you, Bochra. You know I would have followed you to your world. I'm sorry it has to be different."

"Shhh," he held his finger to her lips, "Yes, I know. But we agreed not to speak of that. Being together is more important than where we dwell. We have both made sacrifices to ensure that our marriage will succeed." With that, he kissed her wistfully.

"Only, say again that you love me, my beautiful wife, and it will all be worth it," he pleaded, cradling her face in his hands.

"I love you," she breathed, "I would sacrifice anything to be with you, Bochra!"

He held her close and inhaled deeply. The warmth of his cheek against hers made her heart race. Her skin tingled when he exhaled onto her neck. "My Guinevere," he whispered seductively.

She giggled as she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Bochra didn't miss a beat. He swept her off her feet, his lips all the while touching hers.

"No matter what happens," he said as he carried her off to bed, "know that I will always love you."

"I'll never doubt you again," she promised.

It was hours before they went to sleep.

* * *

_**USS Bellerophon,**_** en route to Romulus**

"I have so many questions about the Bajoran sector. Could you spare a moment, Doctor Bashir?" Wendell Greer looked to Admiral Ross and Senator Cretak, "Unless I'm interrupting..." he added quickly.

"Not at all," the admiral replied politely.

Cretak watched them walk away. "Doctor Bashir seems to make friends easily."

Ross was hesitant again. "Yes," he agreed, swirling the azure-colored liquid in his glass.

Cretak studied him for a moment. His demeanor had changed almost instantly after Bashir and Greer left. What was he hiding? She knew that Ross was for the most part an open man, so if he was uncomfortable then something must have been wrong. It wasn't merely that he didn't want to finish the ale, she understood. No, there was much more to it than that.

She was about to ask him about it, when he suddenly grinned at someone behind her. Commander Bochra and Lady Guinevere strolled up for a drink. Cretak, too, couldn't help but smile when she saw them. There could be no doubt of their mutual affection for each other. Bochra was gazing adoringly at Guinevere, and her countenance glowed in response.

After exchanging pleasantries, Ross said, "So how did you like _Il Trovatore_, Commander? I was sitting a couple of rows behind you."

Bochra smiled conscientiously. Cretak guessed he would have been more at ease if she were not also awaiting his response. "It was...better than I expected. It all seemed so realistic. I had no idea that humans were such a study in dramatic contrasts." He smiled again, this time at his wife, "Further proof that we are not so different after all." The pretty hue returned to her cheeks.

There was the slightest twinge of envy in Cretak's heart. No man, Romulan or otherwise, had ever looked at _her_ in that manner. She had been in love once, but they had mutually chosen their careers instead. A younger image of Neral—when he was around Bochra's age—came to her mind. Not long after they parted ways, he had married another. Several years later, after his wife and children were killed in a Klingon raid, the possibility of a relationship with him presented itself a second time. However, once again, they were both too ambitious to share power.

A part of Cretak always regretted that decision. She couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was still a chance that they could be together again. _But if that happens_, she realized, I_ can kiss my seat on the Continuing Committee goodbye. _"A conflict of interest," was the impediment, she recalled.

It was well-known to her that Bochra and Guinevere's marriage had come at a high cost. The Commander had the War to thank for keeping his family's good name intact. His recent victories would assure that it stayed that way afterwards, but there would always be certain positions he and his relatives would never be able to attain as a result of his association with a human. In the same vein, Guinevere relinquished her family's claim the throne of Nua Breizh when she chose to follow the inclinations of her heart.

Cretak wasn't sure she would have been happy had she made the same decision, even after Neral proposed that they keep their relationship a secret. But with men like Koval and the late Senator Vreenak running the Tal Shair, she knew it would have been utterly impossible.

"Well spoken, Commander," she said finally. "You would have made a good statesperson. Or perhaps a diplomat."

"With respect, Senator," he countered, "probably not."

Cretak chuckled. It was plain that Bochra's opinion of politicians was similar to that held by most of the Romulan military. But that was why the politicians controlled the Empire and the military did not.

"What did you think of the opera, Admiral?" Guinevere asked, changing the subject. Yes, she was the diplomat of the two.

"Who...me?" he said, choking slightly after another sip. "It was, ahem, fine. But Mozart has always been my favorite composer."

Bochra looked inquisitively at his wife. "Mozart?"

"He was from an earlier era," she explained, "You probably wouldn't like his operas, though."

"Since you know me so well, I'll leave it at that." He was making no attempts to conceal the fact that he idolized his lady. "If you will excuse us," he said, then proceeded to escort her off to a corner.

Ross chuckled once they were gone. "I was never that young."

"Nor I," Cretak had to agree. She decided it was best to delay her earlier questions for the moment. Once again, changing to another topic seemed to be the better course of action. "Tell me about this opera you attended, _Il Trovatore_."

* * *

Luther Sloan sipped his drink after Bashir left to go read the PADD he had left in the doctor's quarters. His eye scanned the rest of the room, and finally fell upon the commander of their Romulan escort and his wife.

_A Romulan who married a human_, he thought with considerable interest, _Now that's not something you see every day..._

Romulans were notoriously bigoted for most part, and so he was surprised to see them together. He had learned the news about their marriage along with the rest of the Alpha Quadrant, but it was still no less of an attention-grabber to see them in person. Sloan was intrigued.

Naturally, it was everyone's hope that these types of occurrences would eventually come to pass and aid the cause of peace. But Sloan, together with the rest of his colleagues in Section 31, knew better than to rely on hope alone. As a result, he was always surprised when things of this nature happened so soon on their own.

In fact, now that he stopped to consider it, the matter seemed almost too good to be true. He decided that he had better investigate. Being a military officer, Commander Bochra had of course already been checked. Aside from assassinating a former superior officer (a common enough occurrence as far as Romulans went), he was not under any suspicion.

Guinevere Allaire, on the other hand, was somewhat of a mystery to him. She had former connections to the Romulans, he knew. But how far those connections went...well, that would have to be explored further. She seemed innocent enough, but Section 31 could not afford to leave a single stone unturned. With his flawless casual manner, he oiled his way over to them.

"Ah, you must be Lady Allaire of Nua Breizh. I'm Wendell Greer from the Department of Cartography. May I ask you a few questions about your neck of the woods? It's not often that Federation ships visit the Ximenta and Berezi systems, you know." He held his hand out to her.

The Romulan quickly shook his hand instead. "And _I _am Commander Bochra of the _Greenclaw_." His look told Sloan that he was well aware that he wasn't really searching for mapping information.

Bochra wasn't a fool. Sloan admired that. "Alright, you've caught me, Commander," he grinned sheepishly, and scratched the back of his neck. "I was curious and wanted to meet the two of you. Can't help it; I'm a hopeless romantic at heart. And you're the couple the entire Alpha Quadrant is talking about."

That was at least partially true. Experience had taught him that in order to convince someone to believe a lie, one had to mix in an element of veracity with it.

"Is that so?" Guinevere smiled at his flattery. "I would have thought the Alpha Quadrant was more concerned about the War. What are you, Mr. Greer," she poked playfully, "an undercover reporter, from some attention-diverting gazette, sent to spy on us?"

_Lady, it's a good thing you don't know how close you are to the truth._ "Well, I sometimes I wish I was a spy," he admitted with a slight chuckle, oozing charm from every pore. "It's probably a more exciting job than charting space all day."

"If you want my advice, Mr. Greer," Bochra interrupted, "you'll stick to where your talents truly lie: in cartography. Leave the spying to the _real_ intelligence agents." He took Guinevere's arm. "Now if you will excuse us." He escorted her away, but not before shooting Sloan another warning look.

_So we have a jealous streak, in addition to the typical Romulan mistrust of everyone, eh Commander? _ He filed that little nugget away for future reference. _ I've got my eye on you two_, he told them silently.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ok, everyone, this chapter is dedicated to D. P. Balding, who was gracious enough to write me into his story, "In Darkest Days." Check it out, and do be kind enough to leave him a review! With his permission, I'm returning the favor.**

**Thank you to my invaluable proofreader/editor/hubby, 0afan0! And to thyme2read, BewilderedFemale, and JustaCrazy-Man for your reviews! **

**And thank you to everyone else who is keeping up with the story!**

* * *

Captain Daniel Balding of the _USS Bellerophon _nervously held his hands behind his back. It was the first day of the war conference on Romulus. If anyone had told him but a week ago that he would be a guest on Romulus (and not a prisoner), he would have laughed at the preposterous notion and told that person he or she was crazy. Yet here he was. It was a proud accomplishment that many ambitious captains could only dream of.

Balding was young for his rank. Originally from the former U.K. on Earth, his family had a long tradition of serving in Starfleet. Due to his razor-sharp intelligence, and rapid problem-solving skills, he had climbed the ladder a good deal more quickly than the majority of Starfleet officers.

He slowly sipped his Romulan ale (for once, he wasn't breaking the law by drinking it) and scanned the crowd around him. Because Admiral Ross had taken temporary command of his ship, Balding had no official duty for the time being. It was a welcome break from the hard fighting on the front lines.

His eye caught sight of Wendell Greer, who was flitting around the courtyard from one person to the next like a mosquito. Was he _still_ going around asking people about their "neck of the woods"? Or was he instead bragging about his knowledge of etymology? Balding repressed an annoyed sigh. _ That chap really needs to get a life..._

Many Romulans believed that humans were an inferior species, he knew well. And unfortunately, it looked like Greer was lending credence to that opinion. Balding was all the more determined to do his part to prove otherwise. He represented the Federation, and therefore had to make a good impression.

The problem was, he knew so little about Romulan culture and etiquette. Naturally, he had already read everything in the ship's database about the Romulans, but there was still so much about them that remained a mystery. No doubt he had already committed countless taboos on this first day alone. What he needed was a teacher.

"Penny for your thoughts, _Capitaine_?" asked a feminine voice. Lady Guinevere Allaire smiled kindly at him.

Balding smiled back, and shook her hand. He had already met her and her husband during the voyage from DS9, and remembered that she was very friendly and personable. She was not at all what he would have expected a monarch to be like, and as far as he could tell, not much older than he was. She was married to a Romulan, so if any human knew how to interact with them, it was she. Come to think of it, he recalled, that was why she was there in the first place.

"Well, my Lady," he confessed humbly, "I'm just trying not to make an ass of myself in front of these Romulans. Any pointers you can give me?"

"Well, for starts, don't try to shake anyone's hand," she advised, fluttering her pretty dark eyelashes.

"Are Romulans touch-telepaths?" he whispered in surprise.

"Most of them aren't, actually. It's more of a cultural difference for them. Only family members ever have any physical contact," she explained. "Oh, and don't smile too often, or they'll think you're a fool."

Balding laughed, "Is there _anything_ I'm allowed to do?"

"Yes, always stick to your guns. They'll respect you for it. Remember those main points, and you'll do just fine, _Capitaine_."

"I'll keep that in mind." He downed the rest of his ale. "Thank you very much for your advice, my Lady." He bowed slightly, and was about to walk away when an older Romulan man approached them. _Chairman Koval_, his sharp memory told him.

The Chairman had a great deal of iron-gray in his hair, and wore the infamous black tunic of the Tal Shiar. His hard, deeply lined face looked to Balding as if it would shatter into pieces if he attempted a smile. All in all, he had every appearance of a villain.

"Lady Guinevere Allaire," he greeted her coolly, ignoring Balding altogether.

"Chairman Koval," she returned, matching his icy tone. "What can I do for you?" It was plain to Balding that the two had met on a previous occasion. Judging by their behavior, they hadn't gotten off to a good start.

"You can begin by assuring me of your intentions."

She blinked. "My intentions?"

Koval ground his teeth in vexation. "You have a long record of getting into trouble, Lady. I must inform you that I can only guarantee your safety if you don't try anything...unwise."

Was that a threat? Balding was certain it had to be. He had to defuse the situation before things got ugly. "I must say, Lady Allaire, your dress is very...um, nice. Where did you find it?" In reality, he couldn't have cared less, but he knew it would be an effective way of changing the subject.

As he predicted, Guinevere glowed with happiness. "Oh, Bochra gave it to me. I imagine he obtained it on DS9, probably from that Cardassian dressmaker—I forget his name."

Koval shot a dirty look at Balding, then huffed away. _If looks could kill... So much for not making an ass of myself. Note to self: don't get on that fellow's bad side!_

"He's an excellent tailor, but a vile man. Almost as vile as Koval, I should think," she added, lowering her voice.

"I don't like the looks of him, either," warned Balding, "But if I may be so bold, my Lady, it would not be wise to cross the Chairman of the Tal Shiar. They're a ruthless lot, trust me."

"I am well aware of what they are capable of, _Capitaine_. I don't care." Her French accent was growing stronger as a result of her anger. "Koval and I are old..." she searched for the right word, "acquaintances, and I won't cow before the likes of him."

"Famous last words." Balding lifted his empty glass. "I'm sure you know what you're doing. Just be careful. Oh, and please, call me Daniel," he added with a wink.

* * *

The passageway to Tævek's tomb was dark and menacing. Every few meters, there were torches along the wall, which unfortunately didn't do very much to illuminate the eerie catacomb. The silence was almost deafening.

Guinevere stopped in her tracks. Her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. She was all alone; Romulan tradition dictated that it must be so. She clenched her fists to keep from shaking, and took several deep breaths. The air felt thick and stuffy. Bochra and the guards were waiting for her at the entrance, she assured herself. This wouldn't take long, though she knew it would feel like it.

_I should not have come_, a traitorous part of her mind said. She firmly pushed it aside and pressed on.

Her heart was heavy. The memories of her life on Romulus were flooding back to her. She could still see Tævek drenched in blood each time she closed her eyes. Though she had been in several battles by this point, it wasn't the same as the sight of her murdered husband. This vivid first impression had never faded like the others.

Beads of sweat trickled down the side of her face. Her breaths grew more shallow. She was on the verge of panicking, and yet again felt the temptation to turn back. _No! I'm _not_ a coward!_

Fortunately, pride came to the rescue. She knew she could not return with her small sachet of unburned incense still in her hand. To do so would not only disgrace herself, but also Tævek. And after she had so adamantly insisted to Bochra that she must perform this task, she was all the more determined to see it through.

After what seemed like an eternity, the stone tunnel opened up to a larger chamber that reminded her of a honey comb with its many cells. In the center was an intricately-carved fire pot. Fixed metal bars were bent over it, no doubt so that it could not be used as a weapon. Though she wasn't Romulan, she understood the reasoning behind their ways.

She searched the alcoves. At last she found Tævek's crypt. Fresh _lagga_ flowers had been placed in the golden vase above the cell. Reverently, she ran her hands over the words of his engraved epitaph. Her heart sank further when she saw that her name had been chiseled off. Of course, she should have expected this. His family had held her responsible for his death, and had claimed the Rite of Vengeance. Nevertheless, it was yet another cruel blow.

No longer able to withstand her intense emotions, her eyes filled with tears. But she would not permit them to fall.

"What are you doing here?" a harsh voice demanded. "You don't belong here, _human_."

Guinevere started. That voice belonged to Lady Iovita, Tævek's elder sister. She had never approved of their marriage, and Guinevere guessed that it was she who was responsible for scratching out her name.

Iovita stepped into the light. The dull flickering from the nearby blaze caused her harsh features to appear even more frightening, as though she were a demon who had risen out of a fissure from hell. Her eyes flashed with rage.

Guinevere held her ground. "I have come to honor the memory of my husband."

"Honor him?" she scoffed indignantly. "_You_ are the one who is responsible for his death, ungrateful hussy!"

Without answering, Guinevere held her head high and boldly cast the obsidian stones from her small sack into the fire. She closed her eyes and chanted the ancient Romulan incantation of farewell:

_Jolan true, Heis'he_

_Havra yhfiri siun _

_Urr Vorta Vor_

_Khia eliu, tlhei_

_Nnearh oal'lh'lih rah'kholh_

_Mnhei'sahe mnek'nra*_

The flames rose and violently consumed the offering. Red smoke filled the room. Her eyes burned, causing the tears welling in them to finally fall. She tried in vain to keep from coughing.

Iovita seemed unaffected by the fumes. She was more concerned about the fact that her disowned sister-in-law hadn't backed down after her threats. Guinevere knew that it was respect for the dead alone which kept the Romulan woman from lunging at her throat.

"Very well, human. You have completed the ritual. Now leave," she hissed furiously, "And never return."

_I didn't plan to_, Guinevere thought angrily. She chose to remain silent, however, nodded her head, and turned to leave. A heavy weight had been lifted off of her chest. At last she could be at peace.

* * *

***Translation:**

_Fare you well, my love_

_We shall never meet again_

_For you go to the afterlife_

_Yet you have not been forgotten, I promise_

_Your avenger has come_

_Honor is satisfied_


End file.
